


Hear Me Roar

by KimiMeagan



Category: Dragon Age (Comics), Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age - Various Authors, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Andraste Was A Nice Woman, Arranged Marriage, Assassination Attempt(s), Attempt At Avvar, Attempt At Love, Attempt at Humor, Attempted Kidnapping, Avvar, Best Friends, DLCs - All of Them, Dark Past, Dragon Age Lore, Dragon Age Spoilers, Dysfunctional Family, Exalted March, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Drama, Family Issues, Fear of Death, Fear of Discovery, Fear of Life, Fereldan, Free Marches, Freedom, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, I hate tagging, I'm Bad At Tagging, Living Together, Love Triangles, Love at First Sight, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Marriage, Multi, Mutually Unrequited, Original Character Death(s), Orlais, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, Past Lives, Past Torture, Please Don't Hate Me, Post-Game(s), Pre-Game(s), Reincarnation, Religion, Romantic Friendship, Secret Identity, Slavery, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Spirit Guides, Spoilers, Team as Family, Tevinter Imperium, The Chantry, The Fade, The Maker Is Still A Dick, The Maker Was A Dick, Thedas, Travel, Unrequited Love, War, What Was I Thinking?, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-04-10 12:12:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4391432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimiMeagan/pseuds/KimiMeagan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was reborn in this time for a reason.</p>
<p>She didn't want to know what that reason was. She feared what it would mean for her.</p>
<p>She just wanted to live.</p>
<p>[Will Update When Possible - Extremely Slow Updates Possible - Sorry]</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <i>Currently on Hiatus</i>
  </b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Starting Her Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeryn begins her long walk.

It was Saga nudging her muzzle against the underside of Maeryn's jaw that awoke her from her dream. Saga only stared down at her, waiting for the adrenaline to go down it seemed, before her voice filtered through the mouth of the red lion. “Your dreams frighten you.” Maeryn was still adjusting to the constant company of Saga and found the words rattling. She rarely recalled her dreams and when she did they were never the pleasant ones she was told she sometimes had. Saga remembered them all, she watched them as Maeryn did, and assisted Maeryn in overcoming them.

Maeryn was grateful for the help.

“My dreams usually do.” Maeryn admitted to the possessed animal. She didn't ask who was possessing the previously ferocious beast because she found she was scared to know the answer to that question as well. “The unknown frightens most people... as does power, responsibilities, expectations.”

“You worry?”

“Constantly,” Maeryn began to move off of her mat, the icy wind that blew against her skin was enough to awaken her fully but not enough to chill her to the bone, and began to dress. “What if I am not meant for this journey, Saga?” Maeryn lifted her gaze from her hand wrappings and turned it towards the red lion instead. “What if my dreams are just the woman's stories acting themselves out in my thoughts? What if it is simply my imagination taking things too far?”

“Your thoughts are growing chaotic, child,” Saga murmured softly, nudging her hand with her muzzle. “You must quiet them in order to find an answer.”

“Is there one?” Maeryn stood in the middle of her small camp and stared down at her hands. “Is there an answer out there that will allow me peace?”

“Peace is... difficult.” Saga's head tilted as if considering the question. “Peace must be fought for, though that contradicts the word itself. Peace is uneventful.”

“Peace is comfort, as well,” Maeryn looked up from her pack at Saga's last sentence. “Peace is security; peace is stability; peace is order. Peace is a time in which no one dies unless it is their time.” Maeryn did not enjoy death – she thought it a waste – and only killed whenever there was no other way around it. “Peace is what everyone strives towards.”

“Peace is what you desire – what your heart and soul sings for.” Saga rose from her seated position and followed Maeryn once she took down the small makeshift tent and began walking. “It is what **she** desired as well.”

“Everyone knows the stories, Saga,” Maeryn looked down at the red lion with a frown. “But you are telling me that I must walk in her footsteps and do as she had done.”

“I said none of that,” Saga spoke softly again, her words being shot back at Maeryn without her voice being raised. “You have **her** soul within you – you are a version of **her** own self – but you are also your own person altogether. **She** lived **her** life, **she** made **her** choices, and **she** led **her** people. You are not being told to do the same, to do as **she** had done; no. No, you are being told that **her** greatness lives in you. And that, though you may wish you could deny such things,” Maeryn looked down at Saga, sadness in her eyes and a frown marring her face. “You were born to do great things. What things you may accomplish, and in whose eyes they may be seen as great, are up to you alone.”

“What if I do not desire greatness?” Maeryn weakly attempted. “What if my greatest desire is a simple life with no one to know of me nor to know my name besides those I tell and you?”

“Greatness follows you as it followed **her** ,” Saga spoke. “I am certain **she** did not ask for it either.”

“No,” Maeryn hefted her bag higher on her shoulders and set her gaze on the horizon. “I suppose she did not.”


	2. Andraste's Resting Place Reached

It was disaster. It was chaos. It was cruel. It was not the wish of Andraste for such wrong to be wrought upon her people; **their** people, Maeryn corrected herself. Andraste didn't fight just for the human race – as Thedas was quick to forget – and Andraste was no longer just idly sitting by and watching the events play out.

Maeryn was sickened by the sight of the sky above her – the Breach, they called it – and knew that its very presence smacked of corruption and evil. Her version of world slavery to end? Was this her task? To close the Breach and save the people of Thedas?

She was a warrior. She was raised among the Avvar and was an accomplished fighter with more than enough skill to get her across the Frostback Mountains and to Haven – Andraste's final resting place. She worried over Saga for only a few brief moments before dismissing the red lion's presence, knowing the possessed animal would be able to fend for herself should trouble arise; though she opted to remain in the trees to avoid startling others with her presence.

What few fighters there were in Haven were scrambling to defend it, from **demons** of all things. Andraste fought magisters from the Imperium with twisted demons and blood magic at their beck and call – was this another sign Maeryn was supposed to take? Was this another push for her to help in something she knew next to nothing about?

Maeryn feared the answer.

She feared the war she could see flashing before her eyes. She feared the death. She feared the destruction. She feared the need to fix everything before her with a ferocity that she could only barely contain. She feared the reason she contained the need.

She feared everything, herself most of all. And she feared what would happen to Thedas if her story was revealed.

The Breach pulsed in the sky, angry and steadily growing, and Maeryn reached back towards her axe; wishing, more than ever, for her mother to take her hand and to tell her everything would be alright if she trusted in the Lady of the Sky. If she believed her mother as much as she wanted to, the Lady in the Sky would not be able to tell her much of anything with a gaping wound in her skin. Maeryn steeled her nerve, wishing she had less of it so that she could find it in her to turn and flee, before striding forwards and offer her aid to the first official she came across.

She knew what she looked like. An Avvar – a **_barbarian_** , her people had been called – and one that had seen several days of travel and it showed. She also knew the look she received in return.

They would use her, just as she offered, who she was be damned.

The official directed her to their commander, the one in charge of their rag-tag band of warriors and makeshift army, and he was to be the one to dictate where she would go next. She told him she could fight, if he had need of her blade, but she could also care for the injured if she was needed to do that instead; her role in her tribe had not been easily defined and certainly was never set in stone. He had taken one look at her after her words, took in the sharp edges of her large axe, and simply asked if she had been trained well enough to be able to fight without risking others fighting alongside her.

She had been. He sent her to the field with a handful of others, to combat the demon threat that was pouring out onto the valley just outside of the Temple of Sacred Ashes and Haven. There was a group that had moved past them at one point, returning to Haven with an injured member being supported between them, but Maeryn could not glimpse their face or have the time to pay them more than a curious thought.

Demons surrounded her and her fellow fighters and she hefted her axe and made ready to defend herself and the others.

She was a protector. Even in the deepest recesses of her soul, she knew that to be the truth, and the fact of it frightened her.

These days, very little didn't.

For days it seemed she was left on the battle field, in the middle of the chaos and the horror. Her original group had fallen back twice, to recuperate and regain their strength for the briefest of passing moments, and she had joined with their replacements each time they had done so. Once submerged in the battle being waged all around her, the only way Maeryn knew she would be able to leave would be either through death or victory.

Her mouth was dry, her throat was raw, her muscles screamed, her eyes were strained; but still she fought on.

The demons varied each time she turned, the people she fought alongside just the same and just as different, and Maeryn's nerves were being frayed with each passing moment spent in the blood-soaked valley. She would not be able to last much longer without rest, even though she knew she would force herself to fight on just to offer even the smallest amount of relief for her fellow combatants, and it was as if her non-existent prayer had been answer as the demons lessened... and stayed gone.

There was no more fighting to be done.

Maeryn's form shook – head to toe – as the adrenaline still pulse in her veins and made comprehension difficult. Had the Maker done this as a test? Had He brought this disaster and destruction onto the people of Thedas simply to test her will – to test her willingness to please Him and be who Andraste once was?

She was unwilling to find out if the blood and loss of life were all a part of the Maker's plan. Or His game.

She couldn't recall making the trip back to Haven – there were blurry images of faces and hands reaching out to her for her to get the general idea of what had occurred – but Maeryn did recall the words she heard once she was coherent enough to understand any language whatsoever.

The **Herald of Andraste** had stopped the Breach from growing.

The **Herald of Andraste** had saved them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two!
> 
> I felt the compulsion to update - thanks to a comment on Chapter One - and I decided to go ahead and do so. No idea what I'm going to do with this story but we'll both figure it out.
> 
> I only have a faint idea of where its going... and I hope it doesn't deviate too far off.


	3. Questions

She could feel the fear begin to override all else. Her lungs felt small and her chest felt tight; her head felt light and her stomach dropped; her sight went white for the briefest of moments, but felt like an eternity. Maeryn couldn't explain her thoughts, them all being jumbled up words and feelings; none of which she cared to share with others, even if there was anyone nearby to do so.

Maeryn shook with the panic setting in – _How could they know she was there? How did they know who she was? Did someone from her tribe follow her and say something?_ – before the healer tending to her wounds explained that the Herald of Andraste had the Mark of the Maker on his hand and had stopped the Breach from growing.

The air returned to her lungs. Her chest lightened against an invisible pressure. Her head cleared. Her stomach settled. Her vision returned to normal. Time passed on in its usual fashion.

**They didn't know.**

Maeryn wasn't sure if she would call it the Maker's intervention or divine providence or mere chance. But she could find the will in her to look to the sky and mouth a _thank you_ to the heavens for it anyway. Never before had she been so glad for anonymity than she did at that moment.

It wasn't something she was particularly proud of. Her fear of being noticed, of being discovered, but she embraced her faults readily. She knew what and who she was. She knew that much.

Her fear played more of a role in her life than she liked.

The healer, a mage boy that looked to be half her age physically, told her what little he knew about the goings-on around Haven. He told her what he knew of Haven itself; of the Temple of Sacred Ashes; of the newly named Herald of Andraste. Maeryn could see the shadows in his eyes and the tremor in his hands as he spoke – knew he had aged more in the last few days than he should have – and let the mageling speak.

He needed the distraction and the words far more than she needed the information.

She heard all about the Hero of Fereldan and his Dalish upbringing, heard about how he and his companions had found Andraste's Ashes and used them to revive the near-dead Arl Eamon of Redcliffe. Maeryn wondered what it must have been like for the Hero – to search for a prophet's ashes, _a prophet from a religion he didn't even believe in_ , and to discover the mystic cure they held within them. Was he faced with a similar challenge? Did he wonder if what he believed was the truth? Did he believe in the Maker as the rest of his companions did or did he believe the tale was just that – a tale? Maeryn wondered about the Hero and wished she could ask him herself.

She hoped to never meet him, however; too much attention, too much notice.

The boy's name was Samuel, he told her once the healing was done. Or as much as he could do. Maeryn thanked him for what he did – she wasn't bleeding anymore and she felt as if some of her strength had been returned to her – and swore that she would make it up to him somehow. He was too young to be seeing such disaster, such _destruction_ , such _**death**_. He told her to find him if she ended up hurt again and she promised she would if she could.

He was a kind soul and she feared for him. Being a mage in such troubling times was surely not an easy thing; even _she_ had heard the whispers of what was going on in Thedas.

Was that why she was there? To fix the unintentional problems her past self had caused? Or were they even unintentional? Were they problems? Did Andraste _intend_ to subjugate mages simply because of her experiences in the Tevinter Imperium? Were her words meant to be taken to their absolute literal translation?

Did Andraste mean to turn mages into slaves while freeing slaves at the same time?

Maeryn feared the answer, as she usually did when her thoughts turned to Andraste and the Maker.

Haven was calmer, in a sense, when Maeryn managed to stumble back into it. The tent she had left was one of the ones just outside the village and Samuel let her leave once he was certain that she was able to stand on her own unassisted. The flurry of activity that she had walked into when she first entered the village was gone and in its place was a near stillness that unnerved her in a way that she couldn't explain. It was with _**reverence**_ – she saw – that stayed many hands and stilled many feet.

They were awaiting the Herald of Andraste's return to consciousness, it seemed. Samuel said the Herald had fallen unconscious the day before and had yet to reawaken. Maeryn yearned and feared in equal measure when it came to her thoughts on the apparent Herald: she yearned to meet him, to see this 'Mark of the Maker' that Samuel had mentioned, and to ask him how he had saved them... and she also feared what he was capable of while holding a title such as 'Herald of Andraste'.

Was he a believer? Was he a good man? Did he believe himself chosen by Andraste or did he think it all folly?

Was the title temporary? Was it permanent? _**Was she safe?**_

Her answers lied further in and Maeryn dreaded each step she took in the village.

Someone was bound to know something that would aid her... _Aid her...?_ What was she even doing here? Maeryn felt herself stop and look around. Andraste never saw this place. Andraste never knew of this place. Haven, itself, wouldn't give her any answers. Andraste had nothing to do with where her ashes were placed – just as she had nothing to do with her own death. Maeryn took in her surroundings with a look of confusion.

The Temple of Sacred Ashes could have given her answers, but... _Haven_.

_What was she even doing here anymore?_

Then she thought of Samuel and took another step. There were some things that needed fixing and she feared what all she would have to do to fix them. Samuel didn't deserve a life of slavery – _if that was what Andraste had intended_ – and he didn't deserve subjugation either – _he had healed her for no price, no bargain, and at the cost of his own energy_ – and Maeryn worried what either one would do to a benevolent mage like him.

She didn't intend to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions, questions, questions...
> 
> And answers are nowhere to be found.
> 
> \- Comments Are Appreciated. Tell Me What You Think.


	4. New Order

She found herself standing in front of the Commander again. He was a tall man with straw-colored hair and eyes that Maeryn could relate to. He looked as if he had seen one too many wars and it weighed on his soul. She knew how he felt.

The wait for his attention was somewhat lengthy but Maeryn didn't mind. She didn't enjoy attention anyway. He was still issuing orders and getting reports when she made her way to a halt directly beside his station. It was a tent near the training yard, soldiers she could faintly remember from the valley and apparent recruits swinging swords and shields at one another in a near aimless fashion. She certainly hoped someone was making sure they weren't hurting themselves, some of them looked uneasy in their armor and holding a weapon.

“Yes, what is it?” It was apparently not the first time he attempted to get her attention. Maeryn looked away from the men and women training and back into the commander's gaze.

She explained her reason for being there – _“I wasn't sure where else to go. Did you have anything more for me to do to help?”_ – and, though it wasn't her most shining moment, Maeryn got some form of recognition from him. She wasn't sure if she could count that as a good thing.

Recognition meant that he remembered her, which meant that she was memorable enough to somehow warrant attention. Attention was bad. She could only hope, rather futilely, that he simply had a talent for remembering faces.

Luck never did seem to be on her side.

“You're her,” he stated with a nod, leaning back to stand fully instead of being hunched over his desk and papers. He was at least half a head taller than Maeryn and she tilted her head some to keep her gaze on him. She didn't like how he had his whole focus on her. He mentioned how he recalled a few of his soldiers speaking of her actions in the valley; that he himself had seen a little while he was fighting as well.

_More recognition._ This kind the type he wasn't likely to forget any time soon.

She questioned once more what else she could do to help, since it seemed that the fighting was over for the time being. Commander Cullen – that is what he said to call him – looked her over again, just as he had the first time they had met, and asked what fighting experience she had.

Outside of the valley, apparently.

Maeryn felt a headache come with the memories. Her temples pulsing in pain at the reminder of how many lives she had taken over the years. Human, elf, Vashoth, dwarf, various animals; Maeryn frowned at the thoughts. Necessary never did mean desired.

Her tribe had fought and won countless times against others; had run into bandits, had pointless disagreements with dwarves, run into fleeing elvhen and those of the Dalish clans, and had even had a single encounter with a Vashoth mercenary band. Maeryn remembered them all – even those that had occurred when she was but a child.

She told him only a few of these situations, though. She told him of the tribal fighting that regularly occurred between Avvar tribes and she told him of the various instances in which they would come across a band of thieves or a clan of human-hating Dalish elvhen. He nodded along as she spoke, not saying anything about the fact that she only mentioned them happening. She never said what she did in participation.

Because in every circumstance, she was a killer.

The tribes were kill-or-be-killed.

The thieves were kill-or-be-killed.

The Dalish elvhen were kill-or-be-killed.

And Maeryn was expected to, _and ordered to_ , protect the tribe. And she did. The battles were bloody and needless. Bodies were left strewn across the landscape as if they were beds of flowers and their blood wet the land as if it had rained with it. Maeryn didn't pray to any god on those nights – not to the Mountain Father, not to the Lady in the Sky, not to the Maker or, His Holy Bride, Andraste – and kept to herself for weeks afterwards. Death was never something to be celebrated, not when it was taken in the way she always did to others.

She broke them. She could feel the memories resurfacing. She remembered a man during one of the tribal fights that had lunged at her from out of the shadows with a dagger in each hand and a snarl on his lips. She had hefted her war-hammer with a single hand and swung it into his side. She could remember the nausea that filled her at once when she heard each bone give and snap – loudly – under the blow. She could remember the tears that burned her eyes as she looked into eyes that were still on hers even after he landed several paces away against the side of a cliff.

She could remember the fear and the dread and the sense of failure that filled her once she saw the light go out in his eyes. She could remember the very instance she knew she had killed a man without a haze covering her vision.

She did not enjoy it. But she would do what was asked of her if it meant she could help.

“My men are not as trained as you,” Commander Cullen spoke after a moment's pause. Maeryn had nearly forgotten why she was there in the first place. “They could benefit greatly from your expertise and skills.” He offered her a position of command – a lieutenant's place – and she quickly refused it.

She was already too well-known in his eyes. He could already see her too well.

He told her that there were several menial tasks that required a person's attention. Maeryn offered to fulfill them until she was fully healed, not disclosing the full extent of her injuries to keep him from realizing what it was that she was doing. The healers were in need of particular herbs and plants that grew on the outskirts of Haven but he did not wish to send an unarmed civilian into territory that no one knew was truly safe or not.

Maeryn was more than capable and needed the light duty – at least for a day, he had added. She would be with the troops the next days, depending on her injuries – he said. There was no getting out of it. He wanted her to help train men – men that would be taking lives instead of sowing seeds or tending to their livestock – and women for war.

War took many lives – and just as many deaths.

Maeryn took the papers from him – simple lists of things the healers claimed to need – and wandered back out of the village of Haven and into the forest surrounding it.

The mountains calmed Maeryn nerves only marginally. There was still much on her mind.

And Saga was quick to mention them once she stepped into view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think.


	5. Deciding to Help

“You cannot hide anymore,” were Saga's words upon their reunion. “You can try but they will be able to find you. They know who you are.” Saga tilted her head then, as if in consideration. “Not _**who**_ you are, exactly; but they know who you have shown yourself to be.” Saga nudged her muzzle against Maeryn's hand whenever she walked close enough for her to do so. “You should not hide from them.”

“I do not know how they will react if they know the truth of who I am,” Maeryn admitted, running her fingers over Saga's fur, briefly wondering at the softness of it. “I do not know if they will even believe what they hear if I do tell them. I also do not think it is wise to tell them these things.”

“And why is that?” Saga questioned her, circling the warrior as she spoke. “Are they not of the firm belief that Andraste herself had sent this Herald to them in their darkest hour?” Saga nudged the back of one of her knees as she circled around behind her. “Are they not a faithful band of individuals?” She licked her palm before settling back down directly in front of her. “Is there any particular reason for them not to believe you?”

“I cannot provide proof,” Maeryn admitted, “Even if I do tell them that their prophetess lives amongst them once more,” the words were difficult for Maeryn to speak of aloud and she was forced to swallow past the lump in her throat to continue. “They have no reason to believe my words are true. They will think them the ramblings of a mad woman and turn me away. I will not be able to help their strife if they force me away.”

“You have decided to help then,” Saga did not state her words in the form of a question.

"Yes," Maeryn nodded her head slowly. "I will help them. I will do what I can for them. They need my help..."

Saga titled her head again, considering. "I wonder if Andraste had acted similarly before her words took root." Maeryn didn't respond to that, knowing the conversation had already gone down a road she was not completely willing to venture down. She didn't want to think of Andraste. She didn't want to think of their similarities. She didn't want to think of having to walk the same footsteps another already had.

She didn't want anything to do with it all.

And yet...

She didn't want to walk away from everything when she had the option of changing it - of helping set the world to rights.

Even if **she** would have done the same.

"Perhaps," Maeryn spoke to the tiger, willing to let the conversation rest there. Saga seemed to agree and sat at her side, leaning some of her weight against the woman's legs; allowing her to tangle her fingers in the thick fur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the extremely late update! And I'm even more sorry that it was so short! I'll be getting back into the swing of things soon, I promise! Life keeps getting in the way, though.
> 
> Long chapter next time!


End file.
